


Technicolor

by acedavestrider



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Fluff, Humanstuck, M/M, Soulmates, rated teen for the fuck word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-26 20:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16688206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acedavestrider/pseuds/acedavestrider
Summary: You live your life in black and white. Until you meet Karkat.





	Technicolor

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to anonymous on tumblr for the prompt/request!

You’ve been living your life in black and white for twenty-five years, colorless and bleak. The general consensus is that color will only come into your life when you first lay eyes on your soulmate, your one true love, the only person for you. You don’t really play into that horseshit, and you’re pretty sure it’s all an elaborate capitalism-driven scheme to sell couple outfits and soulmate guides. Once you turned twenty and you still hadn’t found your soulmate, you kind of just gave up, considered yourself one of the few unlucky people who simply didn’t have one. You’ve accepted the theory that you  _ did  _ have a soulmate and that they just died in an unfortunate accident fairly young, leaving you stuck in your grayscale world. That would be just your luck. 

You’re okay with it, really. Once you considered the possibility all those years ago, the pain and initial despair withered away into something more like bitter acceptance. It’s not like there’s anything you can do about it, so you might as well just live your life without a soulmate. You decided early on that you’re not gonna be one of those people who falls into a spiralling depression because they don’t have a soulmate. You’re not that weak. 

You fill the void with friends, and with music. While you’re severely unlucky in the soulmate department, you’ve been incredibly lucky in your career, managing a successful job as a fairly popular DJ. You’ve played in clubs with the best of them - Deadmau5, Skrillex, even a few actual celebrities. You were a guest DJ on the Ellen Show for a week and that boosted your social media following by almost fifty percent, nevermind the incredible effect it had on your music sales. Without the distraction of a soulmate, you’ve been able to focus on your music more than the average person, and you’ve made a pretty decent living. 

You have a gig at a club tonight, and your stylist Kanaya is observing your outfit with furrowed brows. You would just dress yourself, but with your inability to see color, you’ve apparently ended up with some pretty fucked up outfits when you’ve tried to dress yourself in the past. Kanaya has the benefit of already knowing her soulmate, your sister, and thus is around to make sure you don’t end up looking like a complete jackass. 

“I don’t know if the jacket really  _ goes _ ,” Kanaya is saying. “What do you think, Rose?” 

Rose, barely looking up from her book on the couch, says, “I agree.” 

Kanaya tilts her head this way and that, considering you. “You’re right,” she finally says, and you sigh, glad she’s made a decision. It’s been twenty-three minutes and counting since she picked out your clothing and you’re about to be late for your own appearance. She removes the jacket for you and you comply, limbs pliant. 

“Alright, I think that’s it,” she says with a nod. 

“Finally,” you groan. “I’m sure everyone in the club left after waiting for me to get dressed for forty fucking minutes. Tell me, how many gray hairs do I have now?” You lean over and show Kanaya the top of your head. “Be honest, don’t hold back.” 

“Stop,” she chastises, tone motherly. “You look great.” 

“I’ll take your word for it.” 

You grab your shades from your bag and give yourself a lazy once over in the mirror before heading out to your section of the club, Rose and Kanaya bidding you good luck. Your gear is already set up on a raised platform, overlooking the large crowd below, and they cheer when you step up to your booth. You raise a hand in greeting, showing off your teeth in a signature grin, and a few people scream even louder. You run a hand over your equipment to check for any nicks or dings in the electronics, but it seems to be in good shape. You put your headphones on and lean into the microphone. 

“Let’s go,” is all you say, and the first beat of your set starts to blast through the speakers. 

The roar of the crowd gets drowned out by the thumping bass of your song and you bob your head along to the beat. The throng of bodies below you jumps up and down to the rhythm and you start to feel your heart pound along with them. Energy crackles through your veins, blood pumping, and you lose yourself in the music. Your hands move along your turntables and buttons with barely any thought about what you’re doing, the movements so natural and fluid that you hardly have to think about it. You let the rhythm continue for a while before dropping the bass on everyone. They seem to like it, as their dancing increases in tempo and several people let out shouts of excitement. 

This is what you live for. Not soulmates, not fate, not love, but music, beats and rhythms, crowds roaring with approval over your every move, hundreds of bodies anticipating the next flick of your wrist on a turntable or press of your finger on a button. You smile to yourself and move into the next song seamlessly, peering out over the crowd like a king to his subjects.  

You scan the crowd behind your sunglasses, watching the grinding bodies with a smirk. Your gaze bounces over hundreds of bobbing heads and you’re about to turn back to your equipment when a strange feeling comes over you, and color floods your vision. 

The wind gets knocked out of you and you take half a step back, fingers almost slipping from your turntables. Even from behind your shades, the vibrancy of the colors you can suddenly see takes you aback, reds and greens and blues pressing into your eyes like harsh lights. The flashing strobes of the club are pink and purple, the buttons on your equipment are green and red, and the crowd in front of you is a rainbow kaleidoscope. 

Your hands fall off your turntables, wrenching your sunglasses off to see the colors beyond the muted brown of your shades, and you’re met with an almost dizzying array tones and hues. Tears constrict your throat, though you’re not sure why, and you realize suddenly that your soulmate must be somewhere in the crowd. 

You also realize that  _ you have a soulmate.  _

The beat of your song keeps playing, infinitely building up to a bass drop that doesn’t come as you survey the crowd for who could possibly be your soulmate. Is it the girl in the back wearing the hot pink crop top? The boy up front who’s grinding against another guy? The guy sitting at the bar by himself? 

This is so typical. You finally find out you have a soulmate and they’re virtually unrecognizable in the huge throng of people in front of you. You scan the crowd again but no one in particular stands out and you start to feel panic seep into your muscles. What if you never find them? 

You want to leave, to head onto the dancefloor and wait for someone to stop you and tell you they’re your soulmate, but you have a set to finish. You try to get yourself together for long enough to finish, but your work ends up sloppy, your beats not nearly as sick as they should be. The crowd is too drunk or high or both to notice that you’re losing your edge, as they continue to cheer each time you let loose a misplaced horn noise or a bass drop. By the time your set is over you’re sweating with exertion and tingling with paranoia and Kanaya gives you an odd look when you meet her backstage. 

“Are you okay?” she asks, eyebrows drawn into a concerned shape. You’re about to tell her that you’re fine when she gasps. “Your eyes!” 

“My eyes?” you repeat dumbly. You head for the mirror and take a shocked step back when bright red irises stare back at you. You knew your gray eyes would be flooded with color when you saw your soulmate, it’s part of the reason you wear your shades all the time, but you weren’t expecting something so… bizarre. They gaze at you, flicking back and forth like they’re trying to recognize something they can’t quite see, and you feel your heart throb in your chest. 

“Dave?” Kanaya has called Rose into the room and had informed her about your new discovery while you were staring at your freaky eyes. “Dave?” Rose calls again. “You found them?” 

“I don’t know,” you say honestly, your voice giving away more than you intended. You sound frightened and panicked. You put your shades back on. 

“Was it someone in the crowd?” Kanaya asks hastily. “Did anyone approach you?” 

“It was the crowd,” you manage to get out. “I was just looking over at everyone and then I was fucking assaulted with a rainbow of colors like I’m that leprechaun from the Lucky Charms commercials. It was fucking ridiculous, I don’t know how you guys handled it. I have a huge, color-induced migraine now.” 

You shake your head and take in your surroundings, suddenly much brighter with your newfound ability to see color. Kanaya has green eyes. Rose’s are a light purple, contrasting nicely with her blonde hair. Kanaya’s skin is a deep almond brown that’s pleasing to the eye, and the backstage area of the club is a garish red and black. You want to close your eyes, you’re overwhelmed, there’s too much input and you feel like your head is going to explode. 

When you open your eyes again Kanaya and Rose are sharing a look like they know something you don’t, and then your manager is barging into the room to tell you that your meet and greet is starting soon. You sigh, feeling a little desperate to get back outside and search the crowd for you soulmate before they leave, but you follow your manager out to a different section of the club anyways. There’s a line of VIPs waiting for you and they cheer at your entrance. You grin and wave, but your heart’s not in it. You’re too preoccupied. 

They set you up in front of a plain backdrop with your record symbol on it and you stand to the right as people filter through one by one to take pictures with you. You hold up peace signs and gang signs and occasionally middle fingers when someone asks for them, talking to each person a bit before they move along. The line trails by at a snail’s pace though, and by the time you’re down to the last few people you’re nearly winded from all the talking you’ve had to do. You’re still sweaty from your set and the anxiety of possibly losing your soulmate isn’t helping but after what seems like forever, there’s finally just one person left. It’s a scrawny looking guy in a sweater, looking exceptionally nervous, twisting his hands together. When he doesn’t come up to you immediately you wave him over. 

“C’mere dude, I won’t bite,” you say. “Unless you’re into that.” 

He puts on this funny little sneer and approaches you after wiping his hands on his jeans. He’s wearing black nail polish, you notice as he fiddles nervously with his own fingers. The guy helping you run the meet and greet asks for the kid’s phone. 

“I don’t… I don’t want a picture,” he says. You raise your eyebrows. “I just wanna talk.” 

The guy looks at you for approval and you nod once, curious about what the skinny kid has to say. He steps up to you, still hesitating a bit, and you keep your distance. 

“What’s your name, kid?” you ask. 

“Karkat,” he says, standing up a bit straighter. 

You whistle. “That’s exotic,” you say. “Bit weird but pretty cool, rolls off the tongue and everything. Where you from, Karkat?” 

“Ohio.” 

“Damn, what brings you all the way over here?” you ask. “You didn’t come just to meet me, did you?” 

“I…” This poor kid is so fucking nervous. “I saw a video of yours… a long fucking time ago.” 

“Which one?” 

“One of your ridiculous fast raps that you do just to show off?” 

You smile. You like his attitude. “Yeah? What did you think?” 

He snorts. “It was stupid and infuriating and… impressive,” he admits. “But… I... “ 

“Dude, are you alright?” you ask him. He seems far more nervous than anyone you’ve encountered so far and you’re worried he’s about to keel over from cardiac arrest. 

“I’m fine,” he snaps. “I just… when I watched that video I…” 

“Fell deeply in love with me?” you joke. “It’s okay, it happens.” 

“No, goddammit, listen to me,” Karkat says, tone pinched with nerves and irritation. “When I saw that video… my eyes did this,” he points to his irises, deep brown with flecks of gold, “and everything went full-blown fucking technicolor.” 

Your heart stops for long enough that you’re afraid it won’t beat again, and your face heats up with realization. You gesture to the guy still standing by, along with your manager, and tell them to leave you. They insist on staying but a little more pushing and they eventually leave. 

“Let’s go outside,” you tell Karkat, voice only trembling a little bit. You’re suddenly way too hot, the air constrictive, and you hope the cool night air will bring you some clarity. 

“Okay,” he agrees, voice small. 

He follows you outside to the alley behind the club, where the a cool breeze greets you and dries the sweat on your forehead. You lean against cold brick and take a deep breath, considering Karkat with lidded eyes. He’s still anxiously fucking with his fingers, hooking them into the belt loops of his jeans then curling them around each other. You stare at his hands as you speak. 

“Tonight, when I was playing,” you start, “the same thing happened. Eyes turned a freaky shade, everything exploded into color, and I got a sick headache.” 

“Yeah, they never tell you about the headache,” Karkat mutters. “It’s all butterflies and rainbows when you see your soulmate. No one mentions the migraines and the subsequent unbearable nausea.” 

You put a hand on your stomach. “Yeah.” You swallow and meet Karkat’s eyes, just for a second. They’re beautiful. “So… I guess we’re soulmates then?” 

“I… I guess so?” Karkat huffs suddenly, throwing his hands up. “This is so fucking awkward,” he grumbles. “This whole system is just completely fucked up, how is this supposed to work? You see your soulmate on the street and flag them down, then get married just because you’re supposed to? That’s fucking ridiculous!” 

“You’re telling me,” you agree. “I thought I didn’t even have a soulmate all this time, figured you’d died in some kind of freak accident or something.” 

“No, I’ve been trying to find you,” he explains. “But you move around so goddamn much that it was virtually impossible to get in the same room with you. Nevermind that your VIP tickets cost a small fortune.” 

“I don’t set the prices, dude,” you say. “So you seriously came all the way from Ohio?” 

He blushes suddenly. “Yeah, I… I had to know if it was for real or if the universe was just fucking with me.” 

“And what’s your conclusion?” 

“The universe is definitely fucking with me,” he scoffs. “I don’t know how I ended up with a world famous DJ soulmate but… here you are.” 

“Here I am,” you say, splaying your arms wide. 

“God, this is so…” Karkat rubs at his face, expression scrunched up in discomfort. “I’m sorry this is so fucking unbearable, this is not how I imagined this.” 

“How did you imagine it?” you ask out of curiosity. 

“I don’t know… romantic?” 

You bark out a nervous laugh you didn’t know was building up inside you. “Dude, none of this soulmate shit is romantic, that’s just what they sell in commercials and movies and all that garbage,” you say. “My sister met her soulmate while vomiting in the bathroom of a dive bar, okay? None of this is supposed to be  _ romantic _ .” 

“Well fuck, can’t a guy dream?” he defends. “I mean I’ve seen so many romcoms where two people meet for the first time and sparks fly and--”

“Dude, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but life isn’t a romcom,” you say with a frown. “And you have seriously poor taste in movies.” 

“Fuck you,” he spits back. “You said in an interview once that Tommy Wiseau was a cinematic genius.” 

You grin. “So you’ve been watching my interviews?” 

The residual pink in Karkat’s cheeks comes back tenfold. “I did my research,” he says, sticking his chin up. “Had to make sure you were worth my time.” 

“And?” you ask. “What have you decided?” 

He considers you for a moment. “I don’t know yet,” he admits. “Depends on how much you get on my fucking nerves between now and when I leave.” 

“Which is…?” 

“Tomorrow morning.” 

You hum, taking this in with a nod. Your watch reads past midnight, which means you only have a few hours to get to know your literal soulmate before he leaves for what could possibly be forever. You heart thuds with pent up anxiety and you look back up at Karkat with wide eyes. 

“You hungry?” you ask. “Let’s go get some pizza or something.” 

“Don’t you have a bunch of shit to do?” he asks. “Being semi-famous and all?” 

You tilt your head. “Wow ‘semi-famous?’” you repeat. “I was on the fucking Ellen show. If that’s not completely famous to you I don’t know what is.” 

“God, whatever,” he groans. “You mentioned pizza?” 

“Yeah, there’s a place a few minutes away that I always go to,” you offer. “I’ll pay.” 

“The fuck you will not,” Karkat argues. “I can handle it myself.” 

“Dude, no, let me cover it.” You start leaving the alley and Karkat follows behind you. “I’m  _ semi-famous _ , I think I can pay for a couple slices of cholesterol raising, grease-filled pizza.” When Karkat starts to argue again, you interrupt him. “Look, just let me take this. You can pick up the check next time.” 

“Next time?” he counters, eyebrow raised challengingly. 

“Yeah.” You grin. “This is our first date, isn’t it? I assume there will be more.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t hedge your bets,” he says with another one of his little sneers. “I don’t care what fate says, if you get on my nerves or piss me off and annoy the shit out of me then I’m not dealing with your ass anymore.” 

“How am I doing so far?” 

“You’re on thin ice.” 

You laugh. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” 

Karkat follows you to the pizza place, standing very close to you. It might just be a placebo effect, the knowledge that he’s your soulmate affecting your actions, but you feel yourself gravitating towards him like he has a magnetic pull. Your shoulders brush as you walk side by side on the narrow sidewalk and you slip your hands into your pockets to avoid the temptation to hold Karkat’s. He’s hunched over on himself, shoulders curved in an awkward slouch like he wants to disappear. You watch him unabashed for a few moments and take in his appearance. 

He’s unreasonably pretty, with small, slanted eyes that flit away from your gaze and hide his deep brown irises from you. His hair is jet black and curled at the ends to give him a youthful look and it grazes against his high cheekbones. Plump lips part with nervous and unsure energy and you think about what it would be like to kiss him for a solid thirty seconds before looking away. 

Your chest constricts like you’re having an asthma attack and you try to take a few subtle deep breaths. You feel like a complete asshole, having breathing problems because your soulmate is unfairly attractive, but you can’t really blame yourself. Karkat is quite the guy, a pretty face with a sharp-edged personality, and you feel like you kind of lucked out with him. Fate might be working in your favor for once. 

You make it to the pizza place and sit down at a table near the back. It’s late so there’s not a lot of people around, just a few nighttime stragglers here and there ordering boxes to go. You settle into your hard plastic seat and look across at Karkat with your chin in your hand, taking him in. 

“What?” he gripes when you keep staring at him. 

“Nothing,” you say. “I’m just…” 

“Freaked out?” 

“Yeah,” you mutter. You are kind of freaked out. Meeting your soulmate after your gig wasn’t really on your list of things to do today. You’re not sure how to proceed.

Ordering something to eat might be a good place to start. You pick up the laminated menu and scan the items, already knowing what you want. Karkat follows suit. 

“Do they do pineapple here?” he asks. “I’m craving some.”

You put the menu down. “Are you serious?” 

“Yeah?” 

You breathe a sigh of relief. “Holy shit, we are soulmates.” You flag down the waiter and order a pineapple pizza to share, and get to know more about Karkat. 

He’s a university student, which is incredible considering he had to pay for the trip from Ohio to New York City, and he’s studying to be a writer. 

“What kinda stuff do you write?” you ask. 

“Romance.” 

“I’m shocked,” you deadpan. 

“Shut up.” 

Your pizza comes after a few minutes and you dig in to the hot, greasy goodness with what could be considered reckless abandon, while Karkat waits until it’s cooled off before eating any. He does most of the talking as you scarf down your food, rambling on about university and his shitty job with increasingly colorful language. He goes on several long tangents about annoying customers he’s dealt with at work in a series of horrible epithets and metaphors that rival your own. The more he talks the more your chest settles into a comfortable feeling, a familiarity that makes your cheeks warm and your throat thick, and you can feel the hearts in your eyes like you’re a teenager talking to your crush. 

“Like, why do people feel the need to talk to me so much while I’m scanning their shit?” he’s saying, voice tinged with irritation. “Listen Debra, it’s not my fault your husband left you, do you want to sign up for a fucking rewards card or not? I don’t need to hear your entire goddamn life story, I don’t want to know about the last time you jacked off or how many times you cry in a night. Just take your shit and go before several of my major arteries explode from sheer, visceral rage.” 

You laugh. “And while Susan’s telling you about her second kid’s softball game the line behind her is growing to unparalleled lengths,” you add. “People start fighting each other in the queue, fists are flying, children are crying, in the distance you hear sirens. The police show up and Karen’s still going on and on about her husband’s love for mediocre sports, she’s still blabbing as they drag her out of the store.” 

“I have literal nightmares about this kind of shit,” Karkat says with a little smile at your scenario. “I’m plagued with intrusive thoughts about overly talkative customers every day of my life.” 

You laugh and Karkat shakes his head, smiling to himself. You’ve long since finished your pizza and Karkat picks at the remains of his. He’s one of those people who doesn’t like pizza crust so he ends up giving it to you and you fall for him just a little bit more. 

He looks at his phone after a few more minutes and sighs. “I have to get going soon,” he says, almost like he’s upset about it. “I’ve got a nine hour drive ahead of me.”

“Jesus, you drove here?” you ask. “Why not take a plane?”

He squints at you. “I’m a college student with a retail job,” he says as explanation as if you just asked a stupid question. You guess you did. 

“Right,” you say. “I’ll walk you back, then.” 

“You don’t have to--”

“Nah, I’m a gentleman,” you say proudly. “Not gonna let you walk around alone in the middle of the night.” 

“Alright,” he agrees begrudgingly. 

You leave a wad of cash on the table that’s more than enough to cover the pizza and then some, and lead the way back outside. It’s colder out now that it’s gotten late, and you wish Kanaya had decided in favor of the jacket earlier just so you could offer it to Karkat; he looks chilled in just his sweater and jeans. You stand a little closer to him as you walk to his car, which is parked in a lot a quarter mile away from the venue for some reason. 

“Parking passes were expensive,” he explains, and you chuckle at him. 

When you get to his car you hesitate a bit, not quite ready to let him go just yet. Although the beginning was a bit rocky, you’ve really gotten along with him in the past couple hours and you don’t want to say goodbye to him so soon. You exchange numbers to keep in touch and you cross your arms over your chest at the feeling blooming in your stomach. 

“Next time you come down I’ll pay for a flight,” you say. “No need to have you driving nine hours just to get to me.” 

“Next time?” he says again, smile sly. He’s challenging you.

“There’s gonna be a next time,” you say, though it’s half a question. “Right?” 

He looks at you then sighs. “Yeah,” he admits. “I’ll let you know when I’m free.” 

“Cool,” you say. And then, as you consider your next move, “Uh…” 

Karkat quirks up an eyebrow, waits for you to speak. 

“Is it fucked up to kiss on the first date?” 

“I don’t even know if I’m considering this a date,” Karkat counters. “But, um, I wouldn’t, you know,  _ protest _ if--”

The moment you get his consent you swoop forward to kiss him, hand pressed into his cheek. He responds quickly and kisses you back, and his lips are just as soft and pliable as you thought they would be. Heat bursts behind your belly button and the uneven staccato that’s replaced your heartbeat comes back with a vengeance. It’s a short kiss, chaste and sweet, but when you pull away Karkat is a fiery shade of pink. 

“I’ll see you around?” 

He clears his throat. “Uh, yeah,” he says. “Yeah.” 

You step back so he has room to get into his car and you watch him go, standing by until his car is out of sight. A sigh of relief is drawn out of your chest and you realize suddenly how tired you are as you walk back to the club. You check your phone on the way there, and notice the fourteen missed calls from Rose for the first time. You press the button to call her back. 

“Rose?” you say when she picks up. “I found him.” 

**Author's Note:**

> can yall believe ive been writing davekat for years and havent written a soulmate au?? whats wrong with me 
> 
> also this was super fun to write, soulmate aus may be a little overdone but goddammit are they a blast 
> 
> thanks for reading! leave a comment if you like, and send any prompt requests to my tumblr at acedavestrider!


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